100 Prompts: Bleach
by Beff
Summary: Pretty self-explanatory, no? Rating will fluctuate, will leave it at 'T' for now.
1. Introduction

Yes, yes, I'm back and writing again, just in time for NaNoWriMo 2013. Read my profile for details, etc. I'm not big on writing author's notes, I find they detract from the story, but if you have questions, ask away and ye shall receive an answer.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Prompt 1 - Introduction

His first memories of the Soul Society weren't anything to write home about. He had been very young, very overwhelmed by memories from his time alive, and the horror of his early death.

He remembered cold, so cold it burned like fire – but he had died in the deep winter, after all, and the seasons of the world of the shinigami mirrored those of the world of the living. He remembered abject terror – his uncontrollable desire to run and hide whenever another soul came near. He remembered his unadulterated terror whenever someone unsheathed their sword.

He was always cold, always hungry, always alone. He subsisted on whatever scraps he could fine, gradually learning to hide any emotion behind an expressionless mask. Some of the less-savory sorts in the Rukongai got off on beating children, or doing worse. It was a mistake he didn't plan on making twice.

He remembered meeting Granny.

He had been somewhere in one of the higher districts – he couldn't remember why. Likely, he had been tracking down some traces of food. It didn't matter, it wasn't important anymore.

He had been crouched in the lee of a building, sheltering from a vicious rain storm. The wind was howling, and he had been frozen and starving, wishing it would just end, for what seemed an eternity. He was so _tired_, what would it matter if he just went to sleep and didn't wake?

It had taken him a few moments to realize that a cloak had been draped over his skinny shoulders, and that his shivers were starting to abate. He had looked up with bleary teal eyes into the milky cataracts of the old woman.

"Poor dear, come with me and we'll get you warmed right off," she had promised as she had led the dazed child to her cottage.

She had done as she had promised, tucking his unresisting form into a veritable nest of blankets, a warm brick tucked in them to keep them warm throughout the night.

He remembered asking her why, and he remembered and treasured the response, even past his promotion to the captaincy of the Tenth Division.

"You reminded me of one of my own."


	2. Love

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

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2: Love

It was an idea that had always puzzled him.

Maybe it was due to his life before his death – a dark and squalid existence at best. Most who came to the Soul Society did not keep most of their memories, if any – the Twelfth suspected it had to do with the trauma of death. However, for others that same trauma bought the memories up vividly. It didn't matter.

He was 95% sure, prior to his death, that "love" was an alien concept.

Granny had loved him, although the senile old woman thought he was her true grandson. He cared for her in his own way, awkwardly as a new foundling, then more as he aged, though rarely demonstratively.

He had cared for Momo deeply, as a sister. She had _loved_ Aizen. Had loved, did love, couldn't seem to stop loving the cold-blooded bastard, no matter who it came from. Was that real love?

If it was, it scared him.

Long conversations with Hyorinmaru hadn't helped much; the blade spirit had a very different perception of emotions and how they worked. To him, love was being stroked with a whetstone.

It wasn't until he met the Kurosaki family that he really started to understand what "love" really was. Kurosaki Isshin, the wily old bastard, was not only a role model for his children, but an unwitting one for an adopted Captain.

Then again, if "love" was sobbing on his hands and knees in front of a wall-sized picture of his deceased wife, he wasn't even sure he'd ever figure the World of the Living out.


	3. Light

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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3 – Light

She squinted at the giant ball of bright eye-death sitting atop Hitsugaya's death, half-formed evil ideas on ways to kill it running through her hazy mind.

_That's it_, she growled mentally as she adjusted her chest so her assets weren't tumbling out. _This is the absolute last time I fall asleep in his office after drinking with Shuhei._

Her Captain smiled sweetly at her, though the air in his office was cold enough to allow the snow he was generating to accumulate. The smile itself miffed her.

He wondered if she had ever realized why he let his control slip enough to let it snow inside after one of her drinking nights.

His desk lamp by itself didn't cast enough light to wake her from her slumber.

His desk lamp reflecting off two feet of snow did.

It was worth the cleanup effort.


End file.
